


POLYMORPH

by GiantPurpleCephalopod



Series: Red Dwarf Inspired fics [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Explicit Language, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiantPurpleCephalopod/pseuds/GiantPurpleCephalopod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now Complete! This is a story featuring Kirk, Spock and the crew of the U.S.S Enterprise that was inspired by the 'Red 'Dwarf' episode 'Polymorph', with something of a cameo for the monster of the same name. It does not follow the same plot as the 'Red Dwarf' episode, but I hope you will find it just as enjoyable. Tags and ratings may be subject to change as the story progresses, if appropriate. </p><p>So, grab your plomeek soup and your beer flavoured milk shakes, and, above all, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Trek_ , or hold any rights pertaining to the characters and/or universe contained therein. I do not intend to infringe upon anyone else's rights or to cause any offence by my use of aforementioned universe and characters in this work of fan fiction. Nor do I own _Red Dwarf_ , or hold any rights pertaining to the characters and/or universe contained therein, nor is it my intention to infringe upon anyone else's rights or to cause offence by borrowing from the episode 'Polymorph'.
> 
> I'm pretty sure most people have seen _Red Dwarf_ , but, in case you haven't, it is a wonderfully funny, spoofy sci fi comedy. While this story isn't exactly a comedy, that is where I got the inspiration for it, and if some characters are slightly, well, _out of character_ I do apologise. I did try very hard to get them right, given the circumstances. Anyhow, I hope you'll read through and judge for yourself.

# Chapter One

The turning point had been on Pythagoras V - a class M planet with a humanoid population of technological capabilities comparable to mid-to-late 20th century Earth. The one notable exception to this was, as the unfortunate landing party had soon discovered, a far greater propensity for mechanised warfare. Kirk had been strongly reminded of the time they listened to the old classic ‘War of the Worlds’ in High School as he skulked in a road-side ditch with Spock, hiding from the death-dealing robots that looked something like a cross between a giant screw and a cephalopod. He’d actually made the resolution that, if they survived, he was going to submit a request to Starfleet to have Pythagoras V officially renamed Planet Welles. Captain and first officer had been separated from the rest of the landing party when the giant robots had first attacked - back when it was still daylight - and they had been on the run ever since.

The other notable feature of Pythagoras V were its deserts - and, of course, as everyone knows, whilst deserts are scorchingly hot during the day they are also completely and utterly _freezing cold_ at night. The temperature was dropping rapidly with every passing minute, Kirk and Spock had nothing but their phasers and communicators - which were, of course, not working - and there was nothing but sand and rocks (and death-dealing robots) for miles around. So, with no other options presenting themselves, and in accordance with Starfleet survival procedures, the two stranded men had huddled.

Spock was handling the cold a lot better than Kirk - Vulcan stoicism and having been raised in the desert and all that - but, even so, he was not fully Vulcan and not unaffected. Kirk could feel his minute shivering where they were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. This wasn’t working- they weren’t sharing enough body heat. Soon enough they would both be in dire trouble. Spock stared at him blankly (even by the Vulcan’s standards) when Kirk suggested that they needed more body-to-body contact. But, just as he was thinking that he was going to have to make that an order, Spock relented. The Vulcan leant back against the hard-packed earth wall of the ditch and opened his legs, patting the ground between them to signal to the captain that he should sit in the ‘V’ that they made.

Kirk didn’t hesitate – he was _freezing_ \- and had hurriedly pressed as much of his back against his first officer’s chest as he could, sighing out a ‘thank you’. After a minute or two he started to feel a little less like a popsicle, but the temperature was still dropping. He soon became aware that the slight tremors had spread to Spock’s hands - and that the very tips of the Vulcan’s fingers were beginning to turn an alarmingly dark green. Kirk’s mind raced through memories of hours of survival training.

“Spock, give me your hands,” he ordered, his brisk command tone somewhat marred by the fact that his teeth were chattering. The Vulcan complied, blinking. He pulled Spock’s hands under his shirt and placed the cold appendages against his stomach- his core warmth. At first the icy feel of Spock’s skin caused him to suck in a breath, but the Vulcan’s hands soon began to warm, at least a little.

Kirk was exhausted - the running and the fighting and the adrenaline all taking their toll, and the tiredness was making his mind wander. It felt good to be resting back against Spock like this- close, encircled in the Vulcan’s strong arms. He had _such_ a crush on Spock. _No, crush wasn’t the right word._ It hadn’t been there at first – oh sure, he’d found the Vulcan physically attractive from the first moment he saw him, even though Spock had been a threat then- the enemy, an obstacle to be overcome. But the rest – the attraction to Spock’s _mind_ , to all the rest of what made him who he was: his bravery; his loyalty; his unflinching discipline, and the dry wit you had to know him really, _really_ well to know was even there- that had all come later, through all the hours of flying through space and away mission after away mission, through the trial of fire that had been saving the Earth from Nero and the dark chapter in all their lives that was the incident with Khan- through his own death, and subsequent recovery.

Of course, Kirk had refused to acknowledge his feelings at first, because Spock was his friend and Uhura was too, and they were such a _perfect_ couple, and neither of them deserved some pine-y third wheel hanging off the side, waiting in the wings. But then Spock and Uhura broke up, amicably it seemed, and a little tendril of hope had raised its head somewhere deep inside of Kirk- a little tendril that had grown and grown into full-blown unrequited love, no matter how hard he tried to stamp it out. And it was incidences like this one that fed the beast, making it grow just that little bit stronger every time…

“Captain -Jim,” Spock’s deep, smooth voice in his ear sounded oddly hesitant, “you are aware, are you not, that Vulcans are touch telepaths?”

It took a moment for Kirk to understand why Spock was asking him this now – it seemed like such a _non sequitur_. Then, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water down his spine, he had understood. Spock’s hands were on his stomach – his _bare_ stomach. Skin-to-skin. Spock could read his thoughts. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, OH SHIT!_

“Jim,” Spock said, sounding alarmed, as Kirk tried to pull away, a replaying loop of _“I’m sorry”_ coming from his lips. But the Vulcan locked his arms tight about the panicked captain, keeping him in place until his struggling subsided. “Jim, please. _Jim_. There is no need to apologise.”

It was this statement, perhaps, that cut through Kirk’s haze of panic and caused him to cease trying to break free - normally the Vulcan would have said that apologies were illogical. He just couldn’t believe he’d revealed himself to Spock. The relationship they shared was _so_ important to Kirk- it was quickly becoming more important than anything had ever been to him before. And now he’d probably gone and ruined everything. Spock, exerting some of his Vulcan strength, turned his captain around in his arms so that they were face to face.

“Nothing is ruined, Jim,” Spock said earnestly, his dark eyes searching his captain’s. “Or, if it is, it is my doing. If I seemed at all distressed to you, it is only because it was wrong of me to read your intimate thoughts without permission. I confess that I was most distracted by both the cold and our physical proximity, and it – to use a human expression – ‘escaped my mind’, so to speak. I must apologise most sincerely for such a grievous oversight and breach of your trust.” Spock had progressively spoken more quickly, almost as if he were anxious. Kirk swallowed nervously, licking his dry lips.

“I read in your mind, Jim, that you fear me learning of your true regard, because you believe I will react negatively.” The Vulcan swallowed too, eyes locked with Kirk’s. “The truth is that I am most happy to learn that you feel this way toward me.”

“You – you’re _happy?_ I thought Vulcans didn’t do happy?”

“Yes, Jim.” Spock brought his index and middle fingers up, pressed together, and stroked them oh-so-gently down his captain’s cheek. He did not smile, but in his eyes stars were dancing, and Kirk felt his heart skip a beat. “I believe I am positively _ecstatic._ ”

Kirk didn’t feel cold anymore. He was tilting his head, eyes fluttering closed, leaning in for a kiss when they were enveloped in golden light. _Damn, but his team could have better timing._

That had been nearly a month ago now. Kirk sighed blissfully as Spock rolled off him, still panting and blowing from his exertions. Who would have ever thought that the reserved, calculating, _logical_ Vulcan could be so passionate in the bedroom? Or so creative? Spock arranged himself comfortably along Kirk’s side, running their fingers together in a series of lazy Vulcan kisses.

“That,” Kirk laughed, eyes sparkling, “was fantastic. Damn, but I can’t believe I was missing out on this for so long.”

Spock trailed his fingers across the blond man’s wrist, down his forearm, then back up again. “Indeed,” he murmured, “I-”

Whatever Spock was going to say next, however, was interrupted by the beeping of the Captain’s comm station. Grumbling, Kirk squirmed onto his side and stretched to reach the button above the bed. “Kirk here.”

“Captain,” Lt. Uhura’s voice was as clear as if she was standing right beside them. “You’re requested on the bridge. We’ve picked up a distress signal.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.”

They could practically hear the smile in Uhura’s voice. “You better come too, Spock.” The comm crackled as the lieutenant disconnected. Spock raised an eyebrow at his captain’s questioning look.

“I did not tell her, if that is what you’re thinking. She conveyed to me 2.53 days after the Pythagoras V incident that she had deduced there had been a change in our relationship, and expressed her congratulations.”

Kirk opened his mouth. Kirk shut his mouth. A horrible, _horrible_ thought had just occurred to him. “You two – you two didn’t break up because of _me,_ did you, Spock?”

“You were a major contributing factor, yes.” The Vulcan reached out and drew the human to him, pressing their lips together in a heated kiss, seeking to soothe the agitation he sensed flaring within him. “It was not until I thought that I had lost you that I realised the extent of my feelings for you. But there were also other factors that prompted Nyota and I to terminate the romantic aspects of our relationship.”

Kirk was quiet for a moment, not liking to think on his own death. Spock was running his hands all over him, petting him comfortingly. Then the young man shook his head and flashed his trade-mark cocky grin, sitting up and clambering off the bed.

“I thought Vulcans denied having any feelings? Shouldn’t that be the kind of secret you take with you to your grave?”

“As I am half-human, having some feelings is unavoidable. I would however, appreciate it if you refrained from disclosing this fact to Dr McCoy.” The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as Kirk grabbed a second towel out of the cupboard.

“What?” the naked blond held his arms out, a towel in each, in response to the Vulcan’s look. “Aren’t you going to join me in the shower? Or are you going to go up to the bridge all sex-stinky?”

Precisely 4 minutes and 48 seconds later – despite his joking around Kirk had showered and dressed quickly, as he was not one to put his personal pleasure ahead of his duties to his ship – captain and first officer stepped onto the bridge. Kirk strode directly to his chair, settling onto the black leather like a king onto his throne. “Report,” he commanded.

It was Chekov who answered. “We hawe received a distress call from a small scientific research outpost located on a nearby planetoid, heading 0-0-2. Arriwal in 35 minutes, sir.”

“The distress signal seems pre-recorded, Captain,” Uhura interjected from her station. “I have tried all hailing frequencies and have been unable to raise a reply.”

Spock had taken his seat at the science officer’s station, perusing the data available on the research base. “Captain, most of the information in regards to this particular facility is classified. All I can ascertain from the available records is that it is headed by a Dr Alexandra Cleary, whose research is in relation to genetic manipulation. I have managed to collate a few publicly available papers by the doctor, and she appears to have made a particular study of aliens with shape-shifting capabilities.”

Dr McCoy wandered up to stand beside the Captain’s chair. “Something feels wrong about this, Jim.”

Kirk licked his lip, turning to exchange a meaningful look with Spock.

“Normally I would scoff at the doctor’s predilection for pessimism, but in this instance I must concur. Taking into account all given information, including the classified nature of the research being conducted at the facility, I conclude the chances of providing assistance in this instance having a higher-than-normal risk factor, that factor being in excess …”

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Kirk waved a hand. “It’s giving you the heebie jeebies.”

“I am unfamiliar with that phrase, Captain, though I can guess your meaning. Never-the-less,” Spock inclined his head. “There is insufficient cause not to investigate. Furthermore, we are bound to do so by regulations.”

“We are indeed,” Kirk sighed. “Ok, everybody, let’s do this by the book… what? Don’t look at me like that.”

Uhura put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

“Let’s just proceed with caution, ok?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never personally undergone survival training - my inspiration for Kirk putting Spock's hands on his belly was an episode of _Aircrash Investigations_ I saw years ago where a survivor of a plane crash explained how he had done the same for his young son's feet to stop his toes getting frostbite - so please don't try it at home!


	2. Chapter 2

#  Chapter Two

40 minutes later, with scans showing a single life sign still within the facility, Kirk, Spock, Sulu, Bones and Chekov – to be followed by a second team of security and medical personnel if necessary– beamed down into the facility’s transporter room. Kirk and Sulu took point position, phasers drawn and set to stun, while the other three followed, tricorders in hand. The facility was not overly large, and, aside from being in need of a dusting, did not appear to be out of order in any way. It was definitely eerie, though.

The landing party proceeded cautiously along the first corridor, past rooms filled with banks of computers and laboratory equipment. They turned a corner and found themselves outside a botany lab – through the corridor’s interior windows they could see what appeared to be a vast selection of edible plants garnered from a multitude of different planets growing in neat, orderly rows. At one end of the room was a computer terminal. _If Sulu were a dog_ , Kirk thought, _you would have seen his ears prick up and his tail start wagging._ He knew exactly what his helmsman was going to ask even before he opened his mouth.

“Go on, Sulu, take a look,” he said generously. “Take Mr Chekov with you. See if you can find any info on what they were working on. Oh, and keep a comm channel open at all times. If there’s any sign of trouble I want to know about it yesterday, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Sulu and Chekov chorused in unison before disappearing into the botany lab.

“Come on then, you two,” Kirk gestured to Spock and Bones with his phaser. “This way.”

Around the next corner the trio found a lab where the walls were lined with cages. Each contained a small animal of a type Kirk could not identify, dead, and in varying stages of decomposition. Again, a computer terminal stood at one end of the room. The Captain followed Spock and Bones inside, carefully checking the shadows while Bones went to work with his tricorder on the nearest cage and Spock made a beeline for the computer.

A few minutes later there was a _thud_ and a _yelp_ from the direction of the botany lab. Kirk raced back into the corridor shouting: “Sulu! Chekov!” Spock and Bones were right behind him.

They found Sulu helping Chekov dust himself off. It appeared that he had fallen off the chair he had been standing on. Above him, one of the square panels in the ceiling had been prised open. Bones immediately started checking the young Ensign over for signs of damage.

“I thought I heard something-” Chekov’s cheeks were pink as he scooped up his dropped tricorder and inspected it for any signs of damage, “-up there in the ceiling. So I thought I would take a look. There was something up there, an animal the size of a cat, maybe. I could not get a proper look at it – straight away it ran at my face, and I fell.”

Kirk climbed up on the chair himself, shining a light around inside the ceiling. Whatever it was, the creature was gone now.

 _“Chyort!_ I think it is broken.” Chekov held up his tricorder in response to the rest of the groups’ questioning looks.

“It might have been one of the creatures we found in the other room – a live one, that is,” Bones shrugged. “They’re about the same size as Chekov describes.”

“Any idea what they are, Bones? Spock?”

“According to the computer, Captain, they are a shape-shifting animal native to a planet in Beta quadrant. A small predator, not especially high on the food chain, they have developed a fascinating ability to change their shape to appear as their prey, in order to get close enough to an unsuspecting victim and strike. From the records I have had time to analyse they were attempting, via genetic experimentation and selective breeding, to produce a new variety of this creature that was able to change its shape into multiple forms.”

“Huh. Sulu, how about you? Find anything interesting?”

“Not really, Captain. As far as I can tell all they were working on in here was mapping the genetic sequencing of the different plants.”

“Ok. Well, let’s keep looking around for a bit. I’d like to know what happened to those researchers. Bones, would that creature have been what our scanners were picking up?”

“Probably, Jim. Those life signs were pretty faint.”

Once they’d completed a sweep of the rest of the complex, determining it to be safe, Kirk allowed Spock to beam down a team of science personnel to finish rescuing the researchers’ data. He knew the scientists were hoping to locate and capture the surviving creature, but it seemed to have found an undiscoverable hiding place.

Kirk also had his security team sent down. Sadly, they did eventually locate the missing researchers – their bodies, anyway. Cause of death was yet to be determined, pending an autopsy back on board the Enterprise.

After 4 hours they had done all they could, and everybody beamed back on board. Chekov was still fussing over his broken tricorder. He muttered soft depreciations to himself in Russian as he turned the blasted object over and over in his hands on his way back to his quarters. He just couldn’t work out what was wrong with it – a slight drop like that should not have affected it at all.

Sighing, he waited for his door to slide back with a _hiss,_ stepping inside. He sat the tricorder down on the end of his bed and went to have a shower.

When he came back, wearing loose grey pyjama pants and still towelling his hair dry, and saw what was sitting on the end of his bed he stopped and stared.

There was a teddy bear on the end of his bed. But not just _any_ teddy bear. It was small, grey (in a way that suggested it had probably started off white) and threadbare, the tatty ribbon around its neck a very faded shade of blue. One of its eyes was the black, beady original, and the other had long been replaced by a large, red plastic button.

“Misha?” Chekov asked incredulously, his towel falling forgotten to the floor as he walked over to examine the stuffed toy. “But you were lost years ago! I do not understand how you could be here.” Tentatively he reached out and picked up the teddy, running the soft, faded ribbon between two fingers. A slow, sweet smile crept across his face. “Oh Misha,” he sighed, lost in fond childhood memories. “I meessed you so much!”

The teddy bear seemed to shiver. Without warning, it was gone. In its place was a fluffy bunny rabbit. A _live_ fluffy bunny rabbit- the sort with ears that flop down. Its soft fur was the colour of caramel, and its dark eyes gleamed from above its steadily twitching nose. Chekov gasped with delight, too enraptured to register the strangeness of what had just happened. “My, aren’t you a cutie!” he exclaimed, stroking the rabbit’s velvet-soft ears. “I hawe always loved cute little bunnies.”

Chekov spent the next few minutes stroking and cooing to the soft, furry animal, utterly smitten. Then the rabbit shuddered. Chekov squeaked as he suddenly found himself with an armful of joyful, wriggling dachshund puppy that was enthusiastically trying to lick his face. “Oh! Oh! But where did you come from?” he laughed. Pink roses were blooming in his cheeks and his eyes were sparkling. The puppy barked happily at him.

Chekov set the puppy on the floor, sinking down onto the bed with one arm clutched to his stomach, which was beginning to hurt from laughing so long and heartily. He wiped a hand across his eyes, which were starting to tear. The puppy sat looking at him, its tail wagging. Chekov chortled to himself for a few moments more before a neuron fired in his brain.

“Wait,” he asked the puppy, “where _did_ you come from?”

The puppy seemed to blur. Chekov barely had time to scream, let alone time to escape, before he was overcome.

Hikaru Sulu, Chief Helmsman of the _Enterprise_ , walked down the corridor, past door after door of crewmembers’ private quarters. He stopped at his friend Chekov’s door, his fencing foil tucked under one arm, as he had just come from a practice session in the _Enterprise’s_ gym. He knocked once and called out: “Pav? Are you in there? I thought you might like to grab some dinner?”

At first there was no answer, so Sulu turned to continue on to the mess by himself. But just as he had started to walk away a heavily accented voice called out: “I am here.” Chekov’s door slid open.

Sulu’s eyes narrowed as he beheld the young man standing in the doorway. He _looked_ like Pavel Chekov, but there was something subtly … off … about him. Something about his expression, maybe. He was not wearing his uniform, but rather a pair of loose-fitting grey track pants and an overly large black t-shirt that was slipping off one shoulder.

“Are you ok, Pav?” Sulu asked with concern as the young man just stood there staring at him blankly. “You don’t feel unwell after the mission today, do you? Should I help you down to sickbay?”

Chekov shrugged. “Who can ever _truly_ be well on this miserable ship? We’re all just drifting fruitlessly through space, wasting away our pointless, miserable lives.”

“Now I _know_ you’re sick,” Sulu’s brow furrowed with concern. “I’ve never heard you talk like this, Pav.” He shepherded the younger man back inside his quarters. “You just have a lie down and I’ll fetch a medic, ok? I-”

Whatever Sulu was going to say next was forgotten as he stepped into Chekov’s quarters. There was a lion – _a lion!_ – crouched, growling and ready to spring, in the corner of the room. A thought flickered through Sulu’s mind: _Why was there a lion?_ But then the next second the beast had lashed out with a large paw, its dark, wicked claws scything through the air, and Sulu threw himself in front of Chekov.

“Stay behind me, Pav!” he shouted desperately. “I won’t let it hurt you!” Reacting on instinct he drew his foil and assumed a ready stance. _“En garde!”_ he shouted at the menacing creature. The lion snarled, batting at the foil with its paws. Sulu ducked and weaved, jabbing at the beast again and again, eliciting a roar of frustration. “Ha!” Sulu shouted triumphantly.

The next moment, though, he was blinking in confusion as the lion shuddered and then disappeared. In its place stood a tall, shaggy, alien beast - something very like a white-furred earth gorilla, but larger, with vicious fangs and a wickedly curving horn protruding from the top of its head. A _Mugato!_ Sulu dashed the sweat from his brow. _Mugato_ bites meant death because of their venom – this was even worse than the lion! Behind him he heard Chekov mutter gloomily: “Old Russian proverb: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire.”

“Don’t worry, Pav, it’ll be ok,” Sulu ground out, gritting his teeth in determination, as he resumed his deadly dance with his new foe. _Where were these things coming from, anyway?_

“What’s the use, Hikaru? We might as well just let it bite us and get it over with already.”

 _“The hell is wrong with you?”_ Sulu cried out desperately, swatting aside a reaching claw. “I’ve never heard you talk like this. This isn’t like you at all, Pav.” Sulu was panting heavily now, the sweat running off him in streams. “I can’t hold it back much longer.” He admitted. “You need to make a break for it. See if you can get to the comm in the corridor and call security while I hold it off!”

The _Mugato_ shuddered violently. Sulu’s jaw dropped as he beheld the new enemy in front of him. Like something from his wildest nightmares, the dragon filled the room, though most of its coiled bulk was hidden by the clouds of black smoke that poured from its nostrils. Its scales were a deep, dark red, but its eyes glowed gold. They were all Sulu could see, and seemed to grow and grow until they filled his whole vision. 

“Pav,” he whispered. “Go. Go _now!”_

As Chekov made a break for the door and raced into the corridor the air behind him was filled with Sulu’s terrified screams.

Lieutenant Commander Nyota Uhura, Communications, was in her quarters getting ready for bed (brushing her teeth, in fact) when she heard a commotion outside in the corridor. She opened her door and stepped outside. Just a few doors down, outside the quarters of her friend Pavel Chekov, one of the _Enterprise’s_ navigators, there was a press of security and medical personnel. As Uhura watched a hoverbed was brought out of the room. Lying on it, whimpering and crying whenever anyone touched him or made a sound, was Hikaru Sulu. A nurse walked behind, steering a forlorn looking Pavel Chekov with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Uhura tapped one of the security ensigns on the shoulder. “What happened?”

“Not sure, ma’am. Neither of them is making any sense. Commander Sulu was screaming something about a dragon. Ensign Chekov says he saw it too, that Commander Sulu was trying to protect him from it – he seems real beat up about it, poor kid. They were both part of the landing party earlier – the med staff said they would have to be tested in case they picked up some sort of space sickness down there … ma’am? Ma’am! I don’t think you should go in there!”

Uhura cautiously stepped into Chekov’s quarters. They were neat, tidy and totally unremarkable – the only thing out of place was a tricorder lying on the floor in the corner of the room. There certainly wasn’t any dragon in evidence.

Uhura scooped up the tricorder, wondering if Chekov had taken it with him to the facility. If so, it might contain information that could help understand what had happened to the two men – her friends. She came to a decision quickly – she would take the tricorder to Spock and get him to take a look at it, just in case. As she was leaving the room she passed Chekov’s mirror, and noticed that she had managed to get a drip of toothpaste on the front of her uniform. She had better go and change first.

Uhura sat the tricorder down on her bed as she went to get a fresh uniform out of her drawers. She did not notice it shiver and disappear. In its place was an ornate silver hand mirror.

##  oOo

“So you’ve no idea what’s causing this, Bones?”

Dr McCoy checked the results on his padd for the third time. “No, Jim,” he sighed, “I don’t. So far Sulu and Chekov are the only ones showing any symptoms: you; me; everyone else who went down there that I’ve tested seems absolutely fine. As far as their vitals go I can’t find any cause – Sulu is hysteric and having panic attacks, and his vitals reflect that; Chekov is extremely depressed and _his_ vitals reflect _that._ They seem to have experienced some sort of shared hallucination – something about a succession of monsters appearing in Chekov’s room, of all places. The only thing I can think of is that they’ve picked up something from that room with all the plants. I called down to Spock in the Science Labs where they’re reviewing the data that was retrieved today and asked him to keep a look out for anything that could help us here. Other than that, all I can really do is try to stabilise their moods and monitor their respective conditions.”

“Damn,” Kirk muttered, raking a hand through his hair. He turned to look at the bio bed nearest the door. They’d had to put restraints on Sulu, who seemed determined to try and hide in cupboards or under desks. He had been shaking and crying constantly – that is, when his hyperventilating eased up enough for him to cry – and McCoy had had to give him a very hefty dose of tranquilizers. Chekov had been uncharacteristically apathetic to his companion’s distress and was now sitting cross-legged on one of the bio beds, apparently composing some sort of gloomy poetry. The fact of their visit to the research facility was too much of a coincidence to suppose this sudden affliction – whatever it was – had any other source. Kirk felt restless; helpless. But he also knew that Sulu and Chekov couldn’t be in better hands.

“Ok, well, I’m gonna get some dinner and then hit the hay. Let me know if their condition changes, ok Bones?”

“Sure thing, Jim. Good night.”

McCoy didn’t glance up from the latest readouts he was perusing as the captain left the room, the doors closing behind him with a _hiss._ He worked busily: running more tests; attending his patients; yet more tests. He paused to pour himself a small brandy, scowling at the brain scan results lying on his desk. Certain regions of both Chekov and Sulu’s brains seemed to have gone dark – ones linked to the processing of emotions. He didn’t look up as he heard the _hiss_ of the doors opening again – he could feel the first faint stirrings of a thought deep in his own brain – if only he could just catch a hold of it and bring it to the fore …

“Doctor! Doctor McCoy!”

The doctor didn’t recognise the red-shirted ensign who stumbled through the door, clutching his bloodied hand to his chest, but he was at the young man’s side in an instant. One of the nurses stuck her head ‘round the door from the other room, but McCoy waved a hand to let her know he’d handle it, and she disappeared back to her patient.

“Sit down here, son, and let me take a look.”

The boy took the indicated seat and held out his hand, revealing a long and unpleasant looking gash across his palm. McCoy _tsked_ softly to himself and went to work. In a matter of minutes only a thin white line remained where the cut had been.

“Thank you, Doctor,” the young man squirmed in his seat. “I know it’s not my place to ask … but … I don’t suppose … is it possible to keep this one off the books? You see, it’s my birthday today, and one of my friends had snuck a bottle of Romulan ale on board, and I’ve never drunk before a shift before, but I figured just a little couldn’t hurt, but then I was so much _more_ affected than I had thought I would be, and if the Chief Engineer finds out he’ll write me up, and I-”

“It’s ok, lad,” McCoy laughed, holding up his hands to halt the boy’s frantic babble. “That pesky Romulan ale could get the better of anyone. Your secret’s safe with me- so long as it doesn’t happen again, hmm?”

He winked, and then took an uncertain step back. _The boy had vanished!_ In his place was an old woman, withered and frail. She looked up at McCoy, her wide grey eyes astonishingly clear in spite of her age. “I’m scared, doctor,” she whispered hoarsely, in an accent to match McCoy’s own. “I thought I had made my peace with it, but now my time has come I’m just not ready. I don’t – _I don’t want to die.”_

“Oh, hey now,” McCoy knelt down beside her, laying a gentle hand upon her shoulder. His instinctive urge to comfort had forced any confusion as to her sudden appearance away entirely. “I know you’re scared,” the doctor spoke kindly, “I would be too. But try not to think of this as an ending … think of it as a _beginning_ instead. After all, what is death but an undiscovered country?”

McCoy blinked. His hand was no longer resting on the hunched shoulder of an old woman, but on the slender one of a little girl. Big, glistening tears rolled heartbreakingly down her cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably. “I want Granny! _I want Granny!”_ she wailed “Where is she? Make her come back!”

McCoy gaped, his distress and compassion spiking in his chest as he tried to comfort the little girl. “Oh, now, sweetie,” he began, unable to fight the urge to sweep the distraught child – so like his own precious Joanna – into his arms. _“Shh, shh, it’s alright.”_

A moment later anyone standing outside the sickbay would have heard a strange, fleshy slithering noise and McCoy’s startled, cut-off yelp. _“What in bla-”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I don't know any Russian, but with the help of Google I _think_ I've had Chekov say 'Shit!'
> 
> A 'Mugato' - also known as a 'Mugatu' is a creature from _The Original Series_ episode 'A Private Little War'.


	3. Chapter 3

#  Chapter Three 

Despite telling Bones that he was headed to bed, Kirk found he didn’t want to go to his cabin. He had hardly been able to touch the chicken sandwich he’d collected from the food synthesiser in the mess hall, as each mouthful had settled on his stomach like a lead weight - that is, those few bites he’d been able to sit still long enough to take. He just couldn’t stop thinking about Sulu and Chekov - his crew, his friends, his _family_. Rather than spend the next few hours fruitlessly tossing and turning, he decided to see Spock. Carding a hand through his already ruffled hair he stepped through the door to the science lab.

Spock was seated at the computer console on one side of the room, a massive array of different coloured data chips spread out on the desk beside him. Though he seemed completely focused on his own work he was also directing a number of other blue-shirted science personnel as they went about their various tasks around the room. The first officer looked up as his captain came to stand beside him.

“Anything, Spock?” Kirk asked wearily.

“Yes, Captain,” the Vulcan replied, “I believe so, though I have yet to finish compiling all relevant data. I do not believe, however, that Sulu and Chekov were hallucinating when they said they encountered a monster – or monsters – in Chekov’s quarters.”

_“What?_ What have you found?”

“This, Captain,” Spock brought a complicated report, full of results from different genetic experiments, up on the screen. “The reason for the classified research facility. It appears they were working on creating a genetically-mutated super soldier, although it would be more _accurate_ to refer to it a genetically mutated animal.”

Kirk blinked. Spock was speaking more quickly than was his norm, and his long, graceful hands were gesticulating most elegantly - though the way he would occasionally wag his finger filled the captain with the irrational urge to giggle. The enigmatic alien was most _definitely_ excited by the complicated science in front of him. “Shall we just call it the ‘genetic mutant’, Spock? Is this more of Marcus’ work? It _sounds_ like one of his mad schemes.”

“Possibly. At any rate, Dr Cleary and her team, using the creatures we found down there as a starting point, were attempting to manufacture an entity capable of changing into any form it desired. Apparently it was an attempt to create the ultimate warrior. A mutant that could change shape to suit its terrain and deceive its enemies …”

“Given that we found them all dead, I assume it all went horribly wrong?”

“While it appears that Dr Cleary had indeed achieved her aims in terms of the creatures’ shape-shifting abilities with their most promising candidate, she had yet to find a way to do so without the resultant animal being entirely insane. But as to what has happened to Sulu and Chekov, I believe I have found the answer in this paragraph, here.” Spock’s long finger tapped the screen. “The final DNA strand which was added into the creature to achieve unfettered shape-shifting capability came from an alien which ‘feeds’ on the fear of its prey, rather than any actual biological matter. This characteristic has now been transferred to the genetic mutant, although Cleary’s team have observed that it seems capable of feeding on any emotion, not just fear. They have recorded data from a series of tests where the animal, in a laboratory setting, was observed to change its shape to elicit the desired emotion as strongly as possible from the prey that it had been offered, before it apparently resumed its true shape in order to literally ‘suck’ that emotion out.”

Kirk pressed his face into his hands, groaning tiredly. “Spock, are you honestly telling me that we have an _insane, shape-shifting, emotional vampire_ on board feeding on my crew?”

“Yes, Captain. Though I do realise how highly improbable it sounds.”

“ _Shit._ ” Kirk groaned again. “Chekov’s tricorder- he said it stopped working after the creature rushed him - that must be how it disguised itself to get on board.” He took a deep breath. _“Ok_. Start scanning the ship for non-human –or non-Vulcan- life signs. Send your findings to Dr. McCoy. I’m going to go see if he’s any closer to finding a way to reverse this.” He turned on his heel and made to stride away, but Spock’s strong grip on his elbow pulled him up short. The unusual contact took Kirk by surprise. They were always very careful to keep a strictly professional appearance in public, and the science lab was positively bustling with people. Kirk swallowed, the dark intensity of Spock’s eyes making him feel weak at the knees. His First slipped his hand down Kirk’s arm until their fingers brushed together in a discrete Vulcan kiss.

“Be careful, Jim,” Spock said, his voice low and urgent. “This creature could appear as _anything_ \- any person or object- and it is hunting.”

“Yeah,” Kirk gave Spock’s hand a quick squeeze, hoping that Spock could read in his eyes, or perhaps through his hand, all the things he wasn’t able to say in public. “You too, ok?” Then he turned and marched out the door.

Halfway to Sickbay he almost collided with Lt. Uhura in the corridor. Kirk grabbed her shoulders to steady her, his eyes narrowing as he took in her appearance. As far as he could recall, he had never before seen her with even a single hair out of place, outside of a phaser battle or a starship crash. But now - now, her hair was in disarray, all sticking up at the back, and her make up was smeared. She even smelled off, the mingled odours of tea and toothpaste rising from her uniform, to match the stains on her front.

“Are you ok, Lieutenant?” Kirk gripped her shoulders, noting that she refused to look him in the eyes. He gave her a little - gentle - shake. “Has something happened? I need you to tell me - consider that an order.”

Her mumbled response was so quiet that he had to ask her to repeat herself - _twice_. “I was going to see Spock,” she eventually spoke in the direction of the floor, “and give him Chekov’s tricorder.”

Kirk swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing and his tongue darting out to swipe hurriedly across his suddenly dry lips. When he next spoke the words all came tumbling out in a low rush. “Yes, _yes_ \- Chekov’s tricorder. That’s how the mutant came aboard - do you have it, Lieutenant?”

Uhura pulled free of Kirk’s loose grasp, wrapping her arms about herself. The captain’s shoulders slumped with defeat as she shook her head. “No,” she muttered. “ I picked it up. I was going to take it to Spock. But I had to go to my quarters first.” She sniffled, as her nose started to run. To Kirk’s astonishment she wiped the snot away with the back of her hand, and then wiped her hand clean on her dress. “It was - it was in my quarters. The alien… or, whatever it was. But I don’t know where it is now.”

The wrongness of this scene left Kirk feeling almost paralysed. Uhura normally strode the corridors of the _Enterprise_ like a queen. She was always so confident, so poised, so _perfect_. Not this grotty, slobby, timid little mouse. And that -that _creature_ had done this to her - it had to have done.

Kirk shook his head, getting a firm grip on himself. “I want you to report to Sickbay,” he ordered, taking her by the elbow. “I think Bones should take a look at you.”

She didn’t resist as he all but dragged her down the corridor.

The doors to Sickbay _hissed_ open. Kirk strode in, Uhura trailing behind him. He looked around in confusion. Sulu’s sedative had clearly worn off – the poor man was whimpering loudly and shivering in his restraints, his dusky skin gleaming with sweat. Chekov sat cross-legged on his bed, watching his friend sadly. Uhura shook free of Kirk and wandered over to them.

“Bones?” Kirk called out, a horrible, cold feeling beginning in his chest. It wasn’t like the doctor to ignore a patient’s distress. Scolding himself for working himself into a panic for no reason – there were dozens of reasons Bones might not be able to get to Sulu right away – _hell, he might just have gone to the bathroom_ \- Kirk walked into the CMO’s office.

Dr McCoy was there at his desk, sipping a glass of brandy, apparently engrossed in his paperwork. The comforting familiarity of such a scene jarred disconcertingly with the sounds of Sulu’s distress floating in from the other room. The doctor looked up from the padd he was reading as Kirk came to a stop on the other side of the desk. “ _What?_ ” he grumbled, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl.

“I think Sulu needs your attention, Bones. Can’t you hear him?”

The doctor snorted into his drink. When he spoke his usual soft, Georgian drawl had thickened dramatically.“Of course I can hear him – he won’t shut up. I’m just about ready to give him a hypo just to get some peace n’ quiet. Now, is there anythin’ I can actually do for you, Captain, or are you just hear to waste my time with stupid questions?”

Kirk gaped, feeling like someone had just pulled the floor out from under his feet. There was a lump in his throat making it hard to swallow.

“Oh, by the way,” his friend all but spat at him, “there’s a god-damned _alien_ on board. _Real_ ugly bastard. Maybe you should be doing something about _that_ instead of pestering me – I’m not your babysitter, kid.”

“You saw it!? Bones, _where did it go?”_

“Hell if I know,” McCoy snarled, reaching for another padd. He thrust it at Kirk. “Here’s my preliminary findings on those dead researchers. Looks like they asphyxiated on a poison gas that had been released in the laboratory where they were all found. Lucky for those security ensigns it had dissipated by the time they found the bodies. Now get outta my hair!”

Kirk swallowed down the angry reply that threatened to burst from his lips. Bones wasn’t like this – wasn’t _supposed_ to act like this, like he just didn’t care anymore. Could the creature have somehow taken away his compassion? Clutching the padd to his chest as if it could somehow ward away the distress that was swirling through him, Kirk only just managed to stop himself from snarling at his best friend by a massive effort. Instead, his voice turned as cold as the icy tundras of Delta Vega.

“When you have a moment, please, _Doctor_ , I want you to examine Lt Uhura. She has had a run in with the creature as well. Mr Spock should have sent you the information he has gathered on it by now- if you will kindly relay back to him everything you and the Lieutenant can add from your personal encounters with it. Consider fixing these people - and yourself - your top priority.”

With that Kirk spun on his heel and stalked away through Sickbay, feeling physically ill as he passed the distraught Sulu and gloomy Chekov, now with Uhura seated beside them. Her pride from Uhura. Compassion from Bones. Bravery from Sulu? And what from Chekov? His … joy? Kirk strode the corridors to his quarters absorbed in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure that _emotional_ vampire was turning out to be a strictly accurate term, but it was most certainly taking important parts of themselves from his nearest and dearest friends. What if they couldn’t be fixed? It was heartbreaking to think of them all left like this forever …

Reaching his quarters, Kirk flopped down on the bed, dropping the padd beside him. He put his hands over his face, pressing his fingers hard into his eyelids until it hurt and lights flashed against their dark insides. He couldn’t bear to think of Bones, his Bones, the man who was arguably the first real friend he had ever had, being lost to him forever, replaced by this unfeeling copy. He growled with frustration as he felt the first hot prickles of tears welling in his eyes, and dashed them away angrily. _No! He wasn’t going to let that happen - he would find a way to make this right…_

Kirk surged back to his feet. In a fit of temper he seized the padd from off the bed and threw it against the closed cabin door. It hit with a most disatisfying thud and then fell to the floor. The young captain cursed vehemently at it and began to pace back and forth irritably in the small confines of his living quarters, as gracefully frustrated as a tiger in a cage. His mouth was twisted and his eyes damp with his helpless distress. If he ever found out who had sanctioned such a mad project there was going to be _hell_ to pay … 

“Jim?”

Kirk’s head snapped around at the unexpected voice. Dr McCoy was standing near the doorway, an uncertain look on his face.

“Bones?” Kirk huffed, much of his ire being expelled both by the sight of his friend and the exhalation of breath. “I didn’t hear you come in. Is everything alright?” A sudden, awful thought. “No one’s taken a turn for the worse, have they?”

“No, no, Jim, everyone’s fine.” McCoy took a few steps closer, his head down and his expression sheepish. “I just came to apologise for what I said before. This is frustrating for me too, but that’s no excuse to go lashin’ out at you. Can you forgive me, kid?”

Kirk blinked. “Yeah, Bones, of course. It’s not like we haven’t had worse fights before.” He ran a hand through the short, bristly hairs at the back of his head, his own small smile equally sheepish. “And I’m sorry too. I know my crew are in the best possible hands. But you’ll let me know if you need some relief, right? It must have been rough, being attacked by that mutant. Can you tell me what happened?”

McCoy shrugged. “I was just no match for it, kid. It snuck right up on me and _pow!_ I never even saw it comin’.”

A fresh wave of guilt washed over Kirk. “I’m sorry, Bones,” he sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The doctor came and sat beside him as he slumped despondently, head bowed, elbows on his knees. “I should have been there - I should have done more to make my crew safe - to make _you_ safe. I shouldn’t have let anyone go down to that facility in the first place - it was my call to make, regulations be damned.”

Bones clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Hey kid, don’t worry about it. You had no way to know. We’ll find a way to fix this, you’ll see.”

Kirk reached up to grasp his friend’s hand where it remained resting on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Thanks, Bones,” he said softly, his voice a little hoarse. Bones squeezed his shoulder back.

Meanwhile, in the science lab, Spock sat with his hands steepled before him, the soft glow from the computer screen turning the graceful angles of his face into a canvas of light and shadow. He looked up from the data he was perusing when his computer dinged to indicate that he had a message. It was from Dr McCoy.

Spock barely managed to conceal his instinctive flinch when he read in the doctor’s report that Nyota had also been attacked by the creature. Though they were no longer romantically involved, Nyota would forever be someone he cared deeply for - one of his truest friends. It was distressing, too, to learn that Dr McCoy had likewise been targeted.

His attention was drawn to McCoy’s preliminary autopsy report. _Poison gas?_ He recalled the layout of the facility, and the room where the researchers’ bodies had been found. It seemed implausible that their deaths had been an accident, as the statistical likelihood that all facility personnel would be in the same room at the same time was - _oh_.

Spock’s computer dinged again - this time to advise that the scans had successfully located a non-human life-sign. “Computer, the mutant’s location?” he asked tersely.

The computer responded in its tinny voice: “Non-human life signs detected in the Captain’s Cabin.”

Spock felt the green blood freeze in his veins. He could barely breathe and there was a strange, muted ringing in his ears. “Computer,” he rasped out, his voice little more than a strangled whisper, “where is the Captain?”

The computer’s lights flashed. “The Captain is also in the Captain’s cabin.”

Spock sprang out of his seat, almost bowling a blue-dressed ensign over in the doorway as he sprinted towards the officers’ quarters. There was no thought in his mind but a constant, frantic, _screaming_ need to get to Jim. He did not even think to call for security, or to arm himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a small amount of dialogue from the _Red Dwarf_ episode worked into Kirk and Spock's conversation - a virtual cookie for you if you spotted it. Also, my apologies for the double up on some of the notes - I'm still learning how to use this website.
> 
> Stay tuned for next update and our thrilling conclusion!


	4. Chapter Four

Spock skidded to a halt outside Kirk’s door, his heart hammering frantically in his side. He didn’t wait to be granted entry, his fingers flying over the keypad as he typed in an override code. He bounded through the door before it had even slid all the way back, belatedly realising that he didn’t have his phaser as his fingers grasped nothing but the air above his belt.

Kirk was sitting on the end of his bed in nothing but his underpants- head bowed, shoulders slumped, hands clasped before him. He was in a state of extreme dishevelment - his hair was sticking up in all directions and he was covered in long pink scratches. A deep, painful looking bite-mark adorned the juncture of his shoulder and his neck. Spock’s fears for his Captain’s well being did not abate, but the sight of so blatant a mark caused something else to start stirring inside him - something ancient, something dark, and something _possessive_.

Spock approached his Captain and dropped to his knees in front of him, one hand reaching out to take hold of Kirk’s, the other to gently lift his chin. “Jim?” he whispered, all the fear and trepidation he was feeling swirled together in that one shivering word. Then that _something else_ pushed to the fore, and it was all the Vulcan could do to prevent himself from baring his teeth and snarling. _“What has happened - who has done this to you?”_

Those beautiful blue eyes that he sometimes swore could see into his _katra,_ his very soul, regarded him blankly, and the captain’s voice was dull as he replied: “Oh. Hey, Spock.”

The Vulcan felt something inside himself splinter as, at the same moment, a slight noise – the rustling of cloth, perhaps, - drew his attention. He lifted his eyes from Kirk’s face to see ... himself. His doppelganger stood behind Kirk, his lips curling in a smug smile.

“Indeed,” the doppelganger said, raising a hand in the _ta’al._ “Greetings, Spock”.

Spock shot to his feet, the blood pounding in his ears. Logically, he knew what this creature was - a genetic mutant, designed to perfectly impersonate anyone or anything it chose - but that dark, primal part of him that had been stirred by the marks on his mate, on _his Jim_ saw only another Vulcan; a challenger; a threat to be eliminated. It was all Spock could do to hold in the feral snarl that threatened to rip from his chest. His teeth were showing and the fists that he clenched helplessly at his sides were shaking with mindless fury.

The other Spock - the mutant - pulled a face. “Oh, dear, dear, dear. Have I upset you? How careless of me. I just found it so hard to think in Jim’s … intoxicating … presence. He is simply _exquisite_ , don’t you agree?”

Spock bit back an answering growl, forcing his gaze back to Kirk. When he spoke his voice came out in short, clipped tones, almost like a shaky bark. “Jim, are you alright? Has it hurt you?”

Kirk shook his head, looking back and forth between the two Spocks with a slight frown on his face, almost as if he were trying hard to remember something. Spock reached for his hand, wanting to get him up, to pull him away from the creature, but it was faster, putting a hand on the captain’s shoulder.

“Oh, but I would never hurt _my_ Jim - you of all people should know that, Spock. I suppose I may have been a little rough whilst we were engaging in sexual intercourse - after all, it was so hard not to lose myself in passion during the heat of the moment. But you understand that, Spock, don’t you? You know how _good_ it feels to be inside of him, how _right_ it sounds when he moans your name just so …”

There was no stopping the guttural snarl that spilled from Spock’s throat his time. He lunged for the mutant, but it ducked away, laughing at him. Kirk half rose from the bed, catching at his sleeve, “Spock, wait-” but the enraged Vulcan ignored him. He would hear no pleas on behalf of this … this _usurper_.

The doppelganger seemed to shimmer and blur. It was changing shape again and again - men, women, aliens. Spock recognised them all - some he had met during his time aboard the _Enterprise_ , others he knew from Kirk’s memories. These were all Kirk’s lovers that had gone before him, running through them all over and over again.

“Did he tell you that he loved you, Spock?” The creature’s voice was changing along with the rest of it, a new one every few words. “He told me. He said there’d never been anyone he’d said it to before. How does that make you _feel_?”

Spock roared. Kirk was pressed tight against his side, trying to hold him back. Spock couldn’t seem to focus on what he was saying, though he could see his captain’s lips moving. _“Spock, please, don’t listen to it, it’s trying to make you angry, that’s what it wants, Spock!”_ There was a green haze settling over his vision. He felt hot, _agonised_ as if molten green fire were running through his veins. He seized Kirk and pushed him to the side, safely out of harm’s way. The captain grunted slightly as his back hit the wall. Spock snarled at his rival, at the creature that _dared_ to steal his mate and then taunt him with that fact.

“There is a human expression I learned whilst on Earth,” Spock managed to grind out through gritted teeth, as his primal self overwhelmed and consumed him. “ _Be careful what you wish for._ ”

Spock sprang. The mutant was fast, but this time the Vulcan was faster. He seized it around the throat, his long fingers digging in, seeking its windpipe. He promptly found himself throttling a wild _Le-matya_ , its stinking breath washing over him in a humid miasma as it yowled and snapped its fangs right in his face. Spock roared right back at it, squeezing even harder. The creature quaked and shuddered in his grip, rushing through a succession of monsters, some Spock recognised and others he didn’t. Spock did not let go.

The mutant began to wheeze. Spock found himself beholding his own visage once more, albeit mottled green from lack of air, eyes bulging and mouth working in a silent plea. Spock growled and squeezed even _harder_ his fingers beginning to _ache_ from the force he was exerting. The next moment he was looking into Kirk’s crystal blue eyes, filled with tears of astonished hurt and betrayal as his beloved’s face turned steadily more and more purple. Spock gritted his teeth, his chest heaving with the raggedness of his breath, but he refused to let go. His father, his _mother_ , Nyota … over and over again the creature flipped through them all, the faces most likely to break his will. Spock could not bear it. He closed his eyes.

He still did not let go.

There was a horrid, fleshy, slithery sound. The mutant quaked and shuddered beneath him … and then, finally, went still. Spock felt its body shrinking in his hands. When he opened his eyes it was to see one of the cat-sized creatures - faintly purple, with wrinkly skin, spindly limbs and large, bulbous eyes, now misted over in death - lying in his grasp. He dropped it unceremoniously to the carpet.

The Vulcan did not stand straight away. He felt - as he always did, those times he had lost control and been overcome by emotion - empty, drained. He desperately needed to meditate - but not yet. He was raising his head, eyes seeking out Kirk, when he heard the captain’s soft tread on the carpet. Kirk sank down onto his knees beside him, pressing himself into Spock’s arms, his head resting on the Vulcan’s shoulder.

Spock instinctively returned the embrace, rubbing soothing circles absentmindedly over Kirk’s back with aching fingers. He had to swallow several times before he was able to speak. “Are you injured, Jim?”

He felt Kirk shake his head where it rested against him. When the human spoke his voice sounded as hoarse and ill-used as Spock’s. “No. I’m ok. You?”

“I am adequate, though fatigued,” Spock did not try to articulate the illogical maelstrom inside. Kirk surely knew. It felt right to say something more, however. “Emotional displays are exhausting.”

Kirk snorted softly, before sitting up and taking Spock’s face gently in both his hands. His eyes were glistening.

“Spock, I swear to you, I never had sex with that … that creature. He _lied_ to you. It tried to pretend to be you, and I nearly fell for it, I did, but when it kissed me I knew it wasn’t really you. But by then-” Kirk swallowed, eyes closing momentarily as he grimaced at the memory. “- by then it had its arms around me and I couldn’t get away. You have to believe me. Please.”

Spock’s control over his telepathy had been left shattered by his loss of emotional control. He had nothing to stop him from reliving the other man’s memory with him; the horror of seeing his own Vulcan features split, and melt, and reform and become something ghastly. He felt the biting pain right between his eyes as the creature struck with a long, tentacle-like mouth, latching on and _sucking._ He felt the cold, horrid sensation of something being pulled from him– his love; all the love he felt in his life, for the _Enterprise_ , for his crew, for _Spock,_ leaving only an aching void in its place. Spock shook his head to clear the other man’s memory from before his eyes. There was a lump in his throat, his stomach was roiling coldly, and he found that he had tears trickling down his cheeks to match Kirk’s. He had pulled Kirk close against his body, his arms wrapped strongly around him, with the blond man’s head tucked under Spock’s chin. His tears were wet against Spock’s neck as he nuzzled in, making little breathy, whimpery noises as he tried to suppress his sobs. Spock clenched his arms tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of Kirk’s head. He could not recall ever seeing his captain so distressed - not even when Admiral Pike had died.

“It is alright, Jim,” he murmured into his lover’s blond curls, having to squeeze his eyes tight shut against the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. “I am here now - I am real. I believe you. I know that you were correct when you said that the mutant was attempting to elicit an angry response from me. I am ashamed to admit that it worked.” He kissed the top of Kirk’s head again, before pulling back slightly so he could look down upon his golden Captain’s face. “It is alright.” 

Kirk gave one last sniffle and then wiped his reddened eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, sounding very congested. “I just … when you - when it - suddenly broke apart like that … I don’t think I’ve ever been so horrified in my entire life. I’m going to be having nightmares for weeks.”

Spock reached out to wipe an errant tear from Kirk’s cheek with his thumb. “There is no need to apologise, Jim.” The Vulcan leaned down for a kiss. “Are you sure you are well? The effects of the mutant’s bite have reversed?”

Kirk nodded hesitantly. “I think so. I can feel love for you again - I felt so - so _disinterested_ before, when you first came into the room. It was like - like I had forgotten what I was supposed to feel when I saw you. And then, when I heard the things it was saying - saw the things it was being when it was trying to make you angry, I kind of remembered, but I still couldn’t quite recall what love felt like.” Suddenly he smiled. “But I know again now.”

Spock kissed him again, lingeringly, in both the human and the Vulcan way. “I am glad,” he told his captain softly. “I-”

The Vulcan was interrupted by the whistle of the intercom. Both Captain and First Officer looked at it for a long moment, brought back to the wider reality beyond just the two of them with a disorienting bump. Eventually Kirk made to disentangle himself from Spock’s arms and rise to answer it, but Spock found he couldn’t bear to let his mate out of his arms just yet. Instead, he rose to his feet with Kirk gathered close up against his chest bridal style, walking them both over to the wall panel by the door so that Kirk could reach out and press the button.

“Kirk here.”

“Jim? It’s McCoy. Chekov, Sulu, Uhura - they’re all suddenly back to normal. It’s a _bona fide_ bloody miracle!”

Kirk heaved a great sigh, flashing a relieved if still somewhat damp grin at Spock. The Vulcan allowed himself a small sigh too - he was greatly relieved to hear that Nyota was alright. Inside, however, he was still in turmoil.

“That’s great, Bones. How about you? Are you ok?”

“Fine and dandy. Are you alright, Jim? You sound like you’ve picked up a cold or something?”

“All good,” Kirk wasn’t looking at the intercom, but at Spock. His eyes and expression were soft, loving - reassuring Spock that he was, indeed, returned to normal. “I had a run in with the creature too, but Spock’s taken care of it - the mutant’s dead, Bones.”

Kirk laughed at the muttered “ _thank fuck for that_ ” that came through the intercom, even though Dr McCoy had said it under his breath.

Spock leaned closer to the intercom to speak. “I surmise, Doctor, that the researchers died attempting to lure and trap the creature so that it might be gassed. It appears that its death has restored its victims’ emotions back to them.”

“Well, I’d like Jim to come down to Medical for a checkup, just in case there are any residual effects ...”

Captain and his First Officer shared a look - and more, through their touching skin. Though he seemed outwardly calm, inside Spock was a swirling hot mess. Vulcan instincts, once raised, were not so easily settled - and his claim to his mate had been challenged. Though the challenger was vanquished, Spock’s figurative hackles were still raised. It would be an immense strain - perhaps too great a strain - on his frayed temper to have anyone else touch Kirk right now. What he needed now was peace and quiet and Kirk all to himself. Unfortunately, they couldn’t just explain that to Dr McCoy.

“Can it wait ‘til morning, Bones? I think - I think we’re both a little shaken up right now and would appreciate some time to pull ourselves together.”

There was a brief pause, followed by what sounded suspiciously like Lt. Uhura whispering in the doctor’s ear. This was followed by a muffled sounding _“What?!”_ from McCoy, and then another whispering-filled pause.

Finally “Ok, Jim,” came over the intercom. “But both of you get your butts down here first thing tomorrow morning, understand? Oh, and Jim -”

“Yes, Bones?”

“I’ll get the good Saurian brandy out, hmm? We can toast to blond idiots and green-blooded hobgoblins.”

Kirk grinned, a beaming smile that lit up his whole face, especially his eyes. Spock did not need touch telepathy to know that his Captain was immensely pleased to know he had his friend’s blessing.

“Ok, Bones. It’s a date.”

There was a loud, rather amused sounding snort from the intercom before McCoy said his goodnights.

Spock shifted Kirk a little in his arms, not overly troubled by his lover’s weight, but concerned that Kirk might be uncomfortable. The human responded by reaching up, seizing him by the back of the neck, and pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

“My pointy-eared knight in shining armour.”

A few quick strides brought them to the bed, where Spock lay his Captain down reverently. Climbing onto the bed where he knelt over the blond, the Vulcan took Kirk’s face in his hands and kissed him, first on the lips, then pressed a reverent kiss to each eyelid. Finally he reached for Kirk’s hand, which had settled on Spock’s chest, running his index and middle fingers over his mate’s, pressing the caress down to his wrist and then up again to entwine their fingers. They kept kissing in the Vulcan way, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Suddenly, Kirk blinked. “Shit!” he muttered, glancing around Spock to the sad little heap that had been forgotten on the floor. “Shouldn’t we get rid of that? Take it to one of the labs to be preserved, maybe?”

Spock shushed him with another kiss - a human one. “Later,” he insisted, his hand delving under the waistband of Kirk’s underpants. “This is more important …”

Afterwards, curled drowsily in Spock’s arms, Kirk murmured: “So, are we gonna make some sort of announcement to the crew, do you think? Now that Bones knows, I mean.”

Spock stroked his Captain’s hair thoughtfully as he pondered his reply. “Knowing Nyota as I do,” he began, “-now that circumstances have forced her to disclose her knowledge of our relationship to Dr McCoy - as she doubtlessly was able to accurately surmise the state that I would be in following a threat to you - she will most likely react by planning a congratulatory celebration with the rest of the senior bridge crew for us.”

“Cool.” Kirk snuggled in, unable to suppress a huge yawn. “G’night. Love you.”

Spock pressed a gentle kiss to Kirk’s temple. “Goodnight, Jim. I love you too.”

Kirk made a pleased little ‘mmm’ noise and finally slipped entirely into the welcoming embrace of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! Sorry this took so long to finish - I kept flip flopping on what I wanted to have in the last chapter. I hope it didn't end up _too_ soppy. Feedback and constructive criticism is, of course, appreciated.
> 
> Oh, and a Le Matya is this big yellow and green cat thing from Vulcan that tries to eat kid Spock in the animated series ... 

**Author's Note:**

> I have never personally undergone survival training - my inspiration for Kirk putting Spock's hands on his belly was an episode of _Aircrash Investigations_ I saw years ago where a survivor of a plane crash explained how he had done the same for his young son's feet to stop his toes getting frostbite - so please don't try it at home!


End file.
